


Shirt Stealer

by timeless_alice



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeless_alice/pseuds/timeless_alice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cisco is used to coming home to a sick Hartley. He's not so used to Hartley wearing one of his shirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shirt Stealer

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt! Involves the headcanon that Hartley has a weak immune system.

Cisco was used to coming home to find Hartley curled in a tight ball of misery and illness at one end of the couch, usually under half the blankets in the apartment.

He was not, however, used to seeing Hartley curled up in a compact ball, fast asleep and wearing one of Cisco’s shirts, a size too big for his small frame. Cisco stood in the entrance to the living room for a long while, taking a moment to consider waking Hartley up to demand to know why he’s wearing one of his shirts.

He decided against it; Hartley didn’t sleep enough as it was. Questions could wait for later.

They could wait nearly two hours, apparently. It was getting late when Cisco first heard Hartley stirring, in the form of a coughing fit (Cisco made a small mental note that he didn’t sound nearly as bad as he had that morning). Cisco slid out from the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise – not that it mattered much – with a glass of water in hand. Hartley stared at him through narrowed eyes, his glasses set on the table beside the couch, pulling his nest of blankets closer around him.

“How you feeling?” Cisco asked, tone light and chipper.

Hartley sniffed, almost pointedly. “Better,” he rasped. He cleared his throat, and continued in a clearer voice, “Do you want something?”

“Yeah, uh.” Cisco drummed his fingers on the side of the glass as he approached Hartley. He placed it down behind Hartley’s glasses, and Hartley glanced at it before turned his attention back to Cisco, a silent ‘go on with it’ in the set of his brow. Though, Cisco supposed, that could just be him trying to see. “I gotta ask. Why’re you wearing my shirt?”

What little color was left in Hartley’s face drained away, his eyes widening for just a moment before he closed them again and nuzzled against his pillow. “I feel terrible,” he said, “are you really asking me why I grabbed the first shirt I saw?”

“I’m pretty sure that shirt was in my room.”

“It wasn’t,” was Hartley’s reply, half lost in the pillow.

“Mm.” Cisco had his doubts. “Okay, fine, whatever you say, but I want it back when you’re feeling better.”

Hartley just grumbled a response and pulled a blanket over his head.


End file.
